


Despite the Abundance of Violence

by Hangebokhan, romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hangebokhan/pseuds/Hangebokhan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Tony is trapped and stripped of his Iron Man suit. He sends out a distress call to Steve and Sam. Someone else answers.





	Despite the Abundance of Violence

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the amazing Hangebokhan for being a great partner in crime and co-creator!

Download podfic [here](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/Despite%20an%20Abundance%20of%20Violence.mp3). Thanks Paraka for hosting!

Tony paced around the pitch dark cell. If it could be called that. Given the dimensions and the smell, it was a converted bathroom stall.

"This is ridiculous!” Tony snapped, “do you people know who I am? Of course they do. That’s why you’re here, Stark.”

He walked around, randomly tapping walls, looking for a weak point. He’d already done it a few times, and so far, he hadn’t even been able to find a door.

“I know there’s a door!"

A voice echoed through the room, “Mr. Stark.”

Tony didn’t answer. The sound didn't give him much to go given the acoustics of the room, so he couldn’t really tell where the speaker was or if it was coming from outside the cell.

The voice on the intercom chuckled, “I’m beginning to think you don’t appreciate the hospitality Hydra is showing you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen what Hydra hospitality does to people, and, unlike my eggs, I prefer my brains neither fried nor scrambled.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark. I assure you, what we have in store for you is nothing like what the Asset went through. We have seen what you can do, Mr. Stark. Weapons. AI. The combination of both that was your Ultron. You have talents that appeal to us. You could become the true heir to your father. To Dr. Zola.”

Tony stiffened, eyes narrowing in the dark. “Are we done here?”

“For now.”

The room went quiet and Tony slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. They’d stripped him, leaving him in a tank top and a pair of baggy sweats. Everything else - rings, bracelets, watches - that could possibly contain a link to an Iron Man suit was gone. Given that they most likely would have had to pry the suit off of him in pieces, he doubted there was much of one left to link to.

He wished he knew how long he’d been out and what - if anything - had been done to him. The horror stories he’d read in the Winter Soldier files made it very easy to be very, very nervous about being unconscious while in Hydra’s hands. Tentacles. Whatever.

If he knew, he could figure out how far off the team would be. He was supposed to meet with Wilson and Cap at a pre-arranged rendezvous point two hours after he left for reconnaissance. It could be before that time or past it. Hell, if this was Hydra, well, Cap’s war bride was in and out for seventy plus years.

Tony put his head against his knees and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed was a panic attack. Panic attacks didn’t help. They didn’t let him think. Which he needed to do because he was in a cell with no idea of where he was, how long he’d been there, where the others Avengers were, or how he was getting out of this.

Of course, he’d felt that way in Afghanistan too and that hadn’t ended up so bad. Well, for certain values of bad. He stood up and started feeling along the walls with the flat of his hand, higher above his head.

He kept walking, kept feeling, muttering under his breath. “Think, Tony. Think.”

His fingers brushed against a metal grate, and Tony ran them over the surface of it, feeling the tell-tale holes of an intercom cover. Intercoms meant electronics. Electronics meant getting the hell out of here. Being a genius in theory was all well and good, but being a genius in _practice_ was another level altogether.

And if Stark Tower proved anything, it was that Tony was definitely a level above.

He felt around, searching for anything that he could use as a makeshift tool to work the screws free of the metal plate. He found a section of the concrete wall that was broken, a thick crack leading to a rough inner surface. He dug his fingers in the crack, working to pull free at least a sliver. He hands grew slick with blood as he sliced through the skin, but eventually he was able to work a piece loose.

He had to be careful not to break the sliver, and the cuts ached with every turn. He finally managed to get the screws loose enough to twist them free even with his still bleeding fingers.

It only occurred to him as he pulled the wires out that he couldn’t actually see them, which made things slightly more difficult. All he had to do was figure out how to reverse the broadcast and zap a few dots and dashes out into the world. Steve was old, so that meant he’d know it. And Wilson had been para-rescue. Surely Morse Code was required in the military? And if it wasn’t, Tony was going to make sure Rhodey fixed that.

It took a while and a few electrical bursts that seemed to fry his fingers before Tony felt confident he’d gotten a signal out. He had no idea what band he was broadcasting on. No idea how far it was going, if anyone was listening.

It had also taken a while to figure out what to send that would clue Cap and Falcon into know it was for them without his captors realizing it was a distress call and it was coming from inside the house. But maybe doing it on a wing and a prayer would work if he was trying to get it to a guy who went by the name Falcon.

“sgr i h8 u tes”

He sent the message several times, as many as he could before his arms started to hurt from stretching them above his head. He rested them for a few moments before starting again, not lasting as long on the second go ‘round. Finally he had to stop, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, feeling like dead weight.

He sank down, back against the wall and leaned back, wincing at the tender spot he hadn’t realized was on the back of his head. He sprawled his legs in front of him and hunched his shoulders forward. Now he waited.

Tony hated waiting.

**

The sounds repeated again and again. He didn’t remember learning morse code, but it was clear he had as the dots and dashes resolved into letters and numbers. He scrawled them in his notebook, trying to parse what they meant.

Bucky frowned, “SGR”

Each new memory hit him like a punch, especially when they dealt with the past before Hydra had found him. Easy loose handwriting, delicate fingers, smeared ink. Thin paper and bent and dirty envelopes.

“Dear Buck.”

Postmarked Brooklyn. Jersey. Iowa.

“Your best pal, SGR.”

He shook his head roughly to clear the words from his mind, but, as usual, it didn’t work. Another memory stuck in his brain, stuck to his ribs, hurting.

“SGR I H8 U TES”

The rest of the message meant nothing to him. He continued mouthing the words, sure they were important to figure out. Suddenly a Hydra memory broke through. A list. A list of names. The flash of pictures. Natalia Romanova. Clinton Francis Barton. Scott Edward Harris Lang. Thor Odinson. Pietro Django Maximoff, deceased. Wanda Maximoff. James Rupert Rhodes. Robert Bruce Banner. Steven Grant Rogers. Steve Grant Rogers. Anthony Edward Stark. Anthony, aka Tony. Tony Edward Stark. Howard Stark. Terminate.

Bucky shook his head hard, gripping his hair with his metal hand, pulling until he can feel some of the strands come loose. Tony Edward Stark hates Steven Grant Rogers. Bucky…

Bucky does not. Who the hell is Bucky? You are Bucky.

Even after everything else he’d said, the words are loud in the room, “you are Bucky.”

He stood, aware that Captain America - no. Steven Grant Rogers was his mission. His new mission. His self-appointed mission. Tony Stark hated him. Tony Stark must be stopped.

**

They don’t turn the light on when they jerk Tony out of the cell, which is probably the only good thing that had happened to him. Before they’d come, he’d managed to twist the wires together so that, even though the Morse Code wasn’t running, there was a constant line open.

It had been a while since he’d been tortured. He could feel the memory of burning sand and hot metal, and the known was better than the unknown. He was used to his suit protecting him from the majority of the impacts he took, so the punches pounding into flesh was foreign. He focused on the sun beating down on him in his head, the knowledge that someone - Rhodey? - would save him. Again.

He could almost lose himself to the delusion until a gun was forced between his teeth. He blinked, suddenly aware the room is silent. He stared in front of him at a man with a Colt M1911A1. He wondered briefly how he knew that until he realized he recognized the man holding it. He’d seen him in video footage from DC. He’d seen him in the museum opened he’d been required to attend. He’d seen him on his father’s bookcase. In family photo albums.

Bucky's voice was mechanical, and Tony wondered briefly when he’d last talked, “You hate Steven Grant Rogers.”

Tony jerks back, freeing the gun from his mouth, “I what?”

“Your message: SGR I H8 U TES.”

Of course. Tony’s luck that the one person who would get his message is the one least likely to understand nuances, “um. Yeah. About that.”

He held his hands up in surrender as he took a step back. Even though he knew he shouldn’t take his eyes off the international assassin in front of him, he glanced around at the array of dead bodies sprawled on the floor.

“Private joke?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed and Tony cleared his throat as the gun leveled at him again. He slowly dropped his hands, “I needed something that would make him realize it was me. Not a trap or some random Morse Code message. He knows I don’t hate him, but he also knows I’d say I did. It’s… We’re not exactly bosom buddies, but we’re… Um. Friends. We could be friends. If you stop threatening to shoot me.”

“No,” Tony was a little amazed that that much menace could be put in one syllable.

Look. My suit is here somewhere...” He glanced around, desperate, “red and gold? Ring any bells?”

The smart-ass urge to say something about Bucky’s Swiss cheese brain hovered, thankfully, in the back of Tony’s throat. Bucky’s face seemed to change, but Tony couldn’t put a finger on what actually was different.

“You fight with Captain America.”

“Yes. Alongside him. Not with him.” Tony frowned, “ well…” Tony reminded himself to shut the hell up and simply nodded. Bucky’s eyes narrow and he lowered the gun a fraction.

“Anthony - Tony - Edward Stark. Iron Man. Target.”

“Uh. No. No target. Already targeted today. Once is enough. Thanks.”

Tony reached out and put his hand on the top of the pistol, lowering it then, realizing where it was now pointing, moved Bucky’s hand to the side. There weren’t any body parts Tony was particularly interested in losing, but that one in particular was one he was _very_ fond of.

“Okay,” Tony cleared his throat again. He’d kill for a scotch. Maybe not kill, “so you got my message and came to kill me because you think I don’t like your… whatever he is. You guys are. What are you?”

“He’s my mission.” Bucky frowned and shook his head. “He’s Steve.”

“Riiiiight.” Tony drew out the word, “okay, well. Let’s go find my suit and then we’ll find Sam and Steve’s sorry asses and get the hell out of Dodge. Then we can have a slumber party. Or a lot of alcohol. I vote for door number two.”

Bucky stared at Tony for a long minute before turning on his heel and heading out of the room. Tony followed, a little unnerved by the trail of bodies. None of them appeared to be breathing, but he didn’t remember hearing any shots before there was a gun in his mouth. Also international assassin generally meant death. Of course, he was Iron Man and he didn’t actually use iron. Glass houses.

Bucky turned a corner and, before Tony could round it as well, the sound of grunts and punches, the clang of metal on concrete, and rough cries of pain filled the hallway. One body flew past Tony and crashed into the wall, slithering down. The neck was bent at an awkward angle that Tony was fairly certain made breathing impossible. Once the noise died, he stepped over the sprawled legs and stared.

There were ten bodies lying on the ground and Barnes was standing in the middle of them, breathing normally. He had splatters of blood on him, but none of it actually seemed to be his.

“I take it we found my suit?”

Bucky shrugged, “we found a door.”

He reached out and wrenched the handle. Metal groaned and seemed to scream for a few moments before the door was pulled free of its hinges and tossed casually aside. Tony ducked a bullet that whizzed by him. His eyes widened as Barnes moved, a dervish of action and the smooth lines of a killing machine.

Tony swallowed and he could still taste the oil and metal of the gun in his mouth, and he was suddenly very, very cognizant that he was pretty damn lucky to be alive. He was also aware that he would very much like to stop having those kind of moments.

Barnes threw a body at Tony’s feet, “gold.”

Tony glanced down to see the gold bracelet locked around the person’s wrist. He felt the metal pins that he’d rigged to pierce anyone who didn’t match his bio-signature retract and then it came free. Tony snapped it around his own wrist, surprised and honestly a little worried about the relief it gave him.

“FRIDAY?”

“Here boss,” he knows FRIDAY’s not actually relieved to hear his voice, but she’s his AI, so he can believe whatever he wants.

“Do your worst.”

Pieces of dismantled metal awkwardly flew from around the room. Some were like rapid-fire missiles and others merely sputtered past. Barnes moved as they whizzed past him, dodging them easily. The suit rebuilt itself around Tony, the face plate clanging down hard and Tony felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages. It wasn’t quite right, fit together more like the original suit than anything as sleek and improved as the newer ones, but it fit and protected him, and maybe - hopefully - would work.

“Intel?”

“They tried to get information. I let them have some, but I took all of theirs,” Tony also knew she couldn’t sound smug. Except she did. Well, he had created her, “we’re good to go.”

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

A sudden high-pitched, sharp whistle filled the air and Tony turned, taking the full brunt of a grenade in the chest. He used a repulsor to blast it apart before it could detonate, but the second one blew, throwing him hard into the wall. He fired another repulsor shot into the doorway, shaking his head as if to clear the cement dust falling around him.

It hit him suddenly that the repulsors had worked. Tony’d long since stopped believing in God, but he’d seen aliens and taken a nuke into space. He could throw a thank you out to the universe. Later. When people weren’t trying to kill him. Them.

“Barnes.”

He could hear more men coming, what sounded like a much bigger force than they’d already dealt with. Barnes had already dealt with. But now Tony was armed. He looked around and couldn’t see Barnes until a huge piece of concrete flew across the room. He was covered in dust as well, his hair white with it.

“Maybe now would be a good time to use the gun.”

Barnes cut his eyes toward Tony, and Tony actually shivered. International assassin. Right. Before Tony could blink, Barnes had his gun out and men were falling. Tony sent a repulsor blast forward as he maneuvered into better position, the grenade having opened up the hallway so the advancing group wasn’t in a straight line.

Tony growled, “one day I’d like to NOT be outnumbered. Just for a change of pace.”

Barnes didn’t look at him, simply dropped one gun and pulled out another and a knife. The knife shot forward, catching someone in the throat and they dropped in a spray of blood. Tony took a shot in the shoulder, the bullet pinging off metal. He stopped paying attention to Barnes, instead focusing on aiming repulsor blasts into what seemed like an endless stream of bodies, climbing over each other, using each other as shields.

Tony sprawled onto the floor as one of the men slammed into him, coming from a second door that neither Tony or Barnes had noticed. He seemed to be alone, as far as Tony could tell from his place on the floor, so Tony sent a kicked his legs out from under him and brought his fist down in an arc, the impact jerking the guy’s head hard to the side.

Bucky made a noise behind him, and Tony looked over, seeing that the tide had turned. Barnes fired into a crowd now, more and more bodies swarming in. Tony saw him take one hit,then another, and aimed a blast toward the mass of bodies. Another shot hit his armor and exploded hard at his side, sending Tony flying across the floor, his shot going wild and the full force of his repulsor hit the ceiling.

More than concrete dust fell.

**

Bucky woke up in a haze, his entire body pinned. He heard coughing around him, groans and cries mixed in. Dust burned his eyes and he blinked hard, feeling them water, the wetness sliding down his cheeks into his ears. Even with the dust washed out of his vision, it was still thick in the air, making it hard to breathe.

He attempted to sit up, straining against whatever was on top of him. Being confined reminded him of the helicarrier, staring up at Steve - _seeing Steve_. Instead of just his legs, this time it was his whole body and the complete lack of leverage fueled that same panic. His breathing sped up, and he inhaled more dust, choking on it.

He heard Stark’s voice though it sounded muffled, “Barnes!”

Bucky fought against what he realized was a slab off concrete on top of him. With a different angle, he knew he could lift it, but like this he was trapped. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye as one of Stark’s beams broke through another hunk of gray-white, sending chips of concrete flying everywhere. Bucky ducked his head to avoid the flying shards.

“Here,” Bucky’s voice was weak, throat clogged with dust. He saw the Iron Man suit, red and gold accents through the gray, emerge. It was battered and dented, and Stark stumbled slightly when he was finally all the way on his feet. Stark looked around, eyes scanning the room. Bucky could practically feel the touch of them when they moved over him.

“You were hit?”

Bucky held Stark’s eyes and did his best not to snap at the stupid question. “Yes.”

"You heal like Steve?”

Bucky nodded, “Like Steve. Not like Steve.”

“It scares the hell out of me that I understood that. I’ve gotta get out of here. FRIDAY got intel I need to get back to base,” He looked around, and Bucky watched him scan the room. “Look, I’ll find Cap and Falcon. Let ‘em know where you are. You’re not going to bleed to death, right?”

Bucky felt the slow drag of defeat pull him down. Stark was leaving.

“I’ll send someone. I can’t… I can’t fly us both out of here. If they send people, they’ll assume you’re dead. Play dead. You and Cap are good at that. Just…” Tony lifted his face plate, and Bucky could see the wild in his eyes. Fear is something Bucky was used to. Something he knew. Fear was familiar. People were afraid of him.

Bucky turned his head, not even bothering to try to get leverage to try to free himself. The sensations of blood seeping out of him even as his body fought to heal itself was disconcerting despite knowing the feeling. Pain was familiar too.

“I’ll send someone back,” Tony almost sounded sincere.

Bucky heard the fire of the suit, felt the shift in the air as it rose from the ground, swaying slightly. Tony punched through the hole already in the roof, sending more debris down as he disappeared in the air.

Bucky didn’t watch him go.

**

Tony was nearly halfway to the rendezvous point when he stopped and hovered in mid-air. Cap and Falcon were elsewhere, following a trail to Tony that they’d been fed as a diversion. Tony called them back and thought about calling Maria, sending in a quick and efficient team to clean up the mess.

A quick and efficient team that Tony was completely certain would put a bullet in Barnes’s head no matter what Tony said. It would be easy with him trapped in concrete, unable to move. A prisoner. Tony knew far too well what it was like to be a prisoner, in more ways than one.

“FRIDAY, change of plans. Once we get to the site again, send Hill a message to send a team in. Give Cap and Falcon a new rendezvous point for us to meet and tell Hill we’ll see her back at landing strip.”

“You know what you’re doing, boss?”

“Yes. I’m not sure why, and I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea,” Tony exhaled, “but I do know what I’m doing.”

He adjusted his thrusters and started back to the site, flying low, just in case more than just Barnes had survived the collapse. FRIDAY had been working on his power systems, so he could actually fly properly, and it was a quicker trip back. He paused at the top, staring down into the mass of concrete and bodies.

Night was falling, but the fading light reflected off the metal of Barnes’s arm, off the wide whites of his eyes. Tony pointed his blaster directly at him, and Barnes’s eyes widened further, but fear was replaced by resignation.

“Don’t move.”

Barnes’s voice was quiet. “Tell Steve…”

Tony’s blast shook the entire underground facility. Concrete crumbled, more of the ceiling falling in. Tony sank down into the room and grabbed one of the split halves of the slab that had trapped Barnes. Barnes got to his feet, his brow furrowed, and Tony shook his head.

“Hang on to me, and you can tell him yourself.”

**

Bucky didn’t say a word the entire flight. His brain was spinning -- he was going to see Steve -- and he wasn’t ready to do that. Might never be ready. Tony touched down gently then freed Bucky from his grasp.

Steve and his friend -- the flying man from the helicarrier -- separated from the black of the small, private jet. Steve had his shield in front of him, as if he’d finally learned some sense of self-preservation. Bucky didn’t know much, but somehow he knew that wasn’t possible. Steve was reckless, impulsive. So goddamned stubborn.

Steve stopped walking, staring at them both from several feet away. He looked from Bucky to Tony and then back again. Tony’s face plate opened, making his suit look even more pieced together and wrong. Imperfect. Bucky was familiar with imperfect.

Tony smiled at Steve, not quite friendly.

“I brought you a present, Capsicle.”

Bucky wanted to glare at Tony, but found he couldn’t look away from Steve. He could see Steve’s friend’s gaze move between them, knew where each of them were in relation to him. His brain had every move calculated if he needed to take them down. But his eyes. His eyes were on Steve.

Steve sounded like he had on the bridge. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” Tony rolled his eyes, “your gosh darn best buddy kinda saved my life. Admittedly, he was probably tempted to take it as well, but good will out and all that. Hey, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “Tony.”

Tony walked over and threw his arm around Sam. “I was thinking that that’s my jet and there’s a wet bar and I need a drink like I’ve never needed one before. And I’ve needed a lot of drinks. What do you say?”

Sam glanced over. Steve hadn’t moved and neither had Bucky. Bucky could see Sam’s nod in his peripheral vision and then he and Tony disappeared behind the jet. Bucky didn’t lower his defenses any. They were Avengers. They were a threat.

“You saved me.”

At first Bucky thought to correct him. He’d saved Tony. Tony had saved him. But then he realized Steve meant the river, “don’t ask why. I don’t know. I don’t know why I do anything.”

“You saved Tony.”

That made more sense. Linear. “He’s kind of a jerk.”

Steve laughed, the sound strained, but familiar, “you have absolutely no idea. In fact, there is no kind of. It definitely runs in his family.”

Bucky tilted his head, “Howard Stark. Terminated.”

Steve nodded, “yeah. I read the file.”

“I don’t know why he brought me here. I can’t. I can’t be owned. Not by anyone. Hydra. Shield. The Avengers. Won’t be. Not even for you. By you.”

Steve made a small noise in his throat, a choke like there were fingers digging into his neck, cutting off his air, “I don’t want to own you, Buck.”

Bucky looked around. Sam and Tony were nowhere in sight. He knew there were eyes on him. Captain America had been shot three times by Bucky not that long ago. Bucky was dangerous. Bucky was a threat.

“I have to go.”

Steve nodded again, like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe being like Rip Van Winkle taught him something about not being able to be who other people thought you were, thought you should be.

“Let me… let me give you my number,” he fumbled, tapping his chest and hip and rear. Looking for his phone. Steve Rogers. Never changing. “Just in case you want a place to rest. No strings. No obligations.”

“There’s no such thing,” Bucky smiled, a mere press of his lips hard enough to upturn the corners slightly, “not even with you.”

“Will you still take it? The number?”

Bucky wanted to say no, but the look on Steve’s face held something. A thread. A string. Something Bucky knew would either wrap around his wrist and hold him captive, or something he would hold and unravel. He wanted to say no. Should say no. Needed to say no.

But even if he wasn’t James Buchanan Barnes, or Sergeant Barnes, or even Bucky, there was still something intrinsic to him. Something that would give Steven Grant Rogers anything he wanted.

Something that _wanted_ to give Steve anything he wanted.

The silken touch like a spider’s web.

He said yes.


End file.
